private: sum presentialiter alens in remota
Misa has been gone for more than three days, and there is no way to begin to locate her. I think she was returned to where she came from. What may happen to her there would be predictable and final.
I had forgotten how empty a room can feel, and how slowly time can move when there is nothing to fill it but waiting -- the hours creep by at the most protracted pace imaginable -- no distractions exist -- boredom and agitation take over.
I have very little appetite, but I have been in the kitchen, mostly to make people aware of what has happened. About every six hours or so, I leave a note here and go to her old room; I wait there for her for an hour or so, with her things, then I walk through the hallways, listening for the sounds of someone trapped in a room. Of course, I never hear anything. No one has seen her or heard her since a few hours before she vanished.
(Cockeyed optimism from Pink-san, somewhat less so from Mel, surprising good nature from Mihael, the usual strangeness from B, and so on. At the moment, I am writing this while sitting on the bed that used to be hers.)
I did not sleep the first night she was gone. A younger double of mine here is friendly -- friendlier than I would have been at his age, as is his boyfriend -- I ran into him in a room that gave us some sort of companion animal (I was given an insolent osprey who called herself Raina and hectored me about my health). This other L suggested chamomile and valerian; I credit the tea with the eight hours of sleep I've managed (4 each, the past two nights) since M. went away.
When I think about it, it seems that everything came too late for M. and me.
I can hope that she will come back, but what if she doesn't? Should I allow myself to hope, and if I do, when do I know it is time to stop? Supposing she never reappears, will I ever at least know what happened to her -- how long she lived after leaving? What she could remember?
How much would I be willing to give up to see her again?
["I am closest to you when I am far away."]
Loaded guns attract
We know the rules, we don't react
We wait in hope
We don't expect
Everything I own is in the corner of your room. It's covered with a sheet just like it died - but I will take a broom. I'll sweep it new again, arrange it... Oh, I'll grow a dozen hands. No I never will neglect my world again.
hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?zwmoncxenau
[16 minutes of weird spoken-word stuff and industrial noise from a band featuring members of Skinny Puppy and The Legendary Pink Dots. Musical selection which has been, maybe not entirely appropriately, stuck in the mun's head throughout this brief plot.]
I had forgotten how empty a room can feel, and how slowly time can move when there is nothing to fill it but waiting -- the hours creep by at the most protracted pace imaginable -- no distractions exist -- boredom and agitation take over.
I have very little appetite, but I have been in the kitchen, mostly to make people aware of what has happened. About every six hours or so, I leave a note here and go to her old room; I wait there for her for an hour or so, with her things, then I walk through the hallways, listening for the sounds of someone trapped in a room. Of course, I never hear anything. No one has seen her or heard her since a few hours before she vanished.
(Cockeyed optimism from Pink-san, somewhat less so from Mel, surprising good nature from Mihael, the usual strangeness from B, and so on. At the moment, I am writing this while sitting on the bed that used to be hers.)
I did not sleep the first night she was gone. A younger double of mine here is friendly -- friendlier than I would have been at his age, as is his boyfriend -- I ran into him in a room that gave us some sort of companion animal (I was given an insolent osprey who called herself Raina and hectored me about my health). This other L suggested chamomile and valerian; I credit the tea with the eight hours of sleep I've managed (4 each, the past two nights) since M. went away.
When I think about it, it seems that everything came too late for M. and me.
I can hope that she will come back, but what if she doesn't? Should I allow myself to hope, and if I do, when do I know it is time to stop? Supposing she never reappears, will I ever at least know what happened to her -- how long she lived after leaving? What she could remember?
How much would I be willing to give up to see her again?
["I am closest to you when I am far away."]
Loaded guns attract
We know the rules, we don't react
We wait in hope
We don't expect
Everything I own is in the corner of your room. It's covered with a sheet just like it died - but I will take a broom. I'll sweep it new again, arrange it... Oh, I'll grow a dozen hands. No I never will neglect my world again.
hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?zwmoncxenau
[16 minutes of weird spoken-word stuff and industrial noise from a band featuring members of Skinny Puppy and The Legendary Pink Dots. Musical selection which has been, maybe not entirely appropriately, stuck in the mun's head throughout this brief plot.]